Less than a week.
It was less than a week.
That’s how long it lasted.
And I’ve been sad, mad, depressed, confused about why it all happened.
Why the hell did you let me be the first to go to your place, to spend quiet moments with, if you were so confused?
If you weren’t over her, why the hell ruin a perfectly fine friendship?
And it’s both your fault and not. You just didn’t realize what you were doing. I always said, take the dive, be brave; and you sure did your part in this one. Then you recoiled. Or I did, at the sound of the truth. But you sure as hell didn’t try any further to keep something alive.
Yeah, you’re confused about everything and don’t know what to do.
I’ve been there and I get it. But hell, I fell hard for you and you were the person I least expected to fall in love with.
Isn’t it stupid? Our timing was shit. It always was. If I hadn’t rushed into a relationship with another guy, maybe you would have confessed years ago. If I had ended my dead-end relationship a year ago and if we had met again a year ago, things might have worked.
Or maybe it wouldn’t have.
But hell, now I need to get over this heartbreak. Somehow, I need to, because everywhere I go, it’s marked by memories of us–before and during that relationship. Every place I love to be at, we’ve been there, and it’s all I see now. But fuck, I need to get over this.
Still, I can’t help asking,
why did you ruin our friendship if you weren’t ready?